


The Raven Boys

by TheGlassesPredicament



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: (for the sake of plot chloe brooke and jenna are Adults TM), F/F, F/M, M/M, Original Character(s), Slow Build, Underage Drinking, also: my girl madeline, i had to think up like 4 new characters, raven cycle au, the squip show up eventually i swear, there aren't enough people in this play lordy, very very slow build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-21 23:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11954796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGlassesPredicament/pseuds/TheGlassesPredicament
Summary: Christine Canigula had forgotten how many times she'd been told that she would kill her true love. She had always thought that it didn't matter; that she would never find him, and never, ever kiss him.But that idea was crushed, on St. Mark's Eve.





	The Raven Boys

Christine Canigula had forgotten how many times she'd been told that she would kill her true love.

 

The women of 600 Menlo Street dealt mostly in vague, but accurate predictions. Things like: _On Tuesday, something bad will happen to you. It at involve the number 4._ Or: _You have a big decision, one that won't make itself._ Or: _Money is coming your way. Open your hand for it._

 

Those who came to the big, bright yellow house near Menlo Park did not mind the imprecise nature of these readings. It became like a game for them, to look for the moment the predictions came true. When a car with four passengers rams into a client's car the next week, they could nod with a sense of calm and accomplishment. When an old friend offers them a well paying job opportunity, they know with ease to say yes. Or when they hear their husband say, _This is a decision that has to be made_ , they can remember the same words being said by Brooke Lohst over a set of tarot cards and then move decisively to action.

 

But the impreciseness of the predictions made them less powerful; dismissed as coincidence, hunches. They were a chuckle at a CVS parking lot when you ran into a friend as promised. A shiver when you read the number 23 on your heating bill. A realization that even if you had discovered the future, it didn't change how you lived the present.

 

"You should know," Chloe would advise to new clients, "that this reading will be accurate, not precise."

 

And yet for Christine, this was just not the case. Again and again, she had her palms read and reread, her cards pulled from old, faded decks and shiny new decks alike. Thumbs pressed to the mystical, invisible third eye between her eyebrows. Runes cast and dreams interpreted, tea leaves scrutinized and séances held. All the women came to the same conclusion, blunt and specific. What they all agreed on, in every clairvoyant language, was this:

 

If Christine was to kiss her true love, he would die.

 

For a long time, this had bothered Christine. The warning was specific, sure, but in the way of a fairy tale. It didn't say how her true love would die, or how long after the kiss he would survive. It didn't say if it had to be a kiss on the lips, or if a peck on the back of his palm would be as deadly. It didn't say if he would die if he kissed her instead.

 

Until she was eleven, she thought there was an incurable disease on her lips, one that would kill any hypothetic soulmate of hers. When she was thirteen, Christine decided that jealousy would kill him instead- an old boyfriend emerging from the shadows at the moment of the kiss, holding a handgun and a heart full of hurt. When she turned fifteen, she concluded that the women's tarot cards were just a pack of playing cards and that the dreams of clairvoyant women were fueled by mixed drinks rather than otherworldly insight, and so the prediction didn't matter.

 

She knew better though. The predictions that came out of 600 Menlo Street were unspecific, but always, undeniably true. Brooke had dreamt Christine's broken wrist on the first day of school. Jenna predicted Brooke's tax return to within ten dollars. Her older cousin Madeline always began to hum her favourite song a few minutes before it came on the radio.

 

No one in the house really doubted that Christine was destined to kill her true love with a kiss. It had been brought up so often through the years that it had lost its force. Picturing six year old Christine in love was such a far-off concept it was almost imaginary. And by sixteen, Christine had decided she would never fall in love, so it didn't matter.

 

 But that belief changed when Brooke's half sister Eva showed up in their little slice of New Jersey suburban town. Eva had become famous for doing what the women of 600 Menlo did, but louder. Brooke's readings were done in her front room, mostly for town residents and people passing through. Eva, in contrast, did readings on TV at five o'clock in the morning. She had a website with old photos of her staring eerily at the viewer. Four books on the supernatural with her name on the fronts.

 

Christine had never met Eva, and had never heard of her, so she knew more from a five minute google search than from personal experience. She wasn't sure why Eva was coming to visit, but she knew her imminent arrival sparked many hushed conversations between Brooke and her two partners, Chloe and Jenna - the sort of conversations that trailed off into sipping bad tea and scribbling out memos when Christine entered the room. But Christine wasn't particularly worried about Eva's arrival; what was one more woman added to a house already filled to the brim with them?

 

Eva finally appeared on a spring evening that held a slight chill in the air, despite the warmth of the day. When Christine opened the door for her, she thought at first Eva was an old woman, a complete stranger, but the her eyes grey used to the stretch of crimson light, coming through the trees, and she saw that Eva was barely older than Brooke, which was not very old at all.

 

Outside, in the distance, hounds were crying. Christine was familiar enough with their voices; each fall, the Aglionby Hunt Club rode out with horses and foxhounds nearly every weekend. Christine knew what their frantic howls meant at that moment: They were on the chase.

 

"You're Alice's daughter," Eva said, and before Christine could reply, she continued, "this is the year you'll fall in love."

**Author's Note:**

> For context: Brooke, Chloe and Jenna were all good friends of Alice (Christine's mom). In this fic, Christine's mom passed away when she was seven, so that's why she's living at 600 Menlo. 
> 
> Hopefully y'all enjoyed that, please give kudos and comment if you want me to continue!


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